


Life and Death of the Party

by chxrryb0mb, deeplyshallow



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Chansaw, F/F, Party Scene AU, and heather chandler is jealous, bathroom kissing, mentions of jdonica, named after an Alice Cooper song, this is mostly drunk shit, this is my first chansaw lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chxrryb0mb/pseuds/chxrryb0mb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/deeplyshallow/pseuds/deeplyshallow
Summary: “You said you were done with high school boys,” Heather says, the same old expecting tone that makes Veronica want to tear her extensions out. There is a new edge this time, something more than the essence of a high school bully. “Except Jesse James.”Party scene AU
Relationships: Heather Chandler/Veronica Sawyer
Comments: 9
Kudos: 93





	Life and Death of the Party

**Author's Note:**

> being closeted the entirety of high school came in handy, huh.
> 
> this isn't my best work because It was difficult for us considering we only really write jdonica, but regardless, i hope you all enjoy.

_You're the life and the death of the party_

_You got my heart right by the throat._

If Veronica hears Cyndi Lauper one more time tonight, she might vomit. Granted, she’s consumed an abundant amount of alcohol and has been reconsidering her life choices since she’s stepped in here, but that isn’t anything new. 

Heather disbanded on her rather quickly, not that Veronica is surprised. Heather isn’t known for her reliability or being a good friend. She doesn’t think anybody that’s seen as a piranha by the entire school should be trusted on anything.

The music switches to _Weird Science_ and Veronica considers drinking enough to blackout just so she doesn’t have to hear this shit anymore. _From my heart and from my hand and why don't people understand my intention_ like she cares about what this song is going on about.

Perhaps she’s being a little cynical, just a bit. The music isn’t bad, even if it’s a little anomalous for the party around her. She pushes through the crowd, hand over the top of her cup. She doesn’t trust these people not to drug her.

From her peripheral vision, she can see a couple making out on the couch, the girl pressing herself against the boy sloppily. At least, she thinks they're a couple. She’s not really sure considering how many people she's seen basically hooking up in the hallways, people that she knows wouldn’t usually even spare each other a second glance outside of the party. She knows that’s what they’ll do right after this ends. They’ll never look towards each other ever again.

Veronica emerges from the crowd into a small gap of clarity where the music doesn’t boom as loud and she doesn’t have random adults grinding against her. She sighs and looks down at her drink, shrugging and throwing the cup back and trying to drink as much as she could at once. The only way she’ll be able to tolerate this bullshit is if she’s ossified. 

She’s only able to take a few seconds before she’s sputtering and wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. It’s cheap alcohol, nothing that comes as a surprise. This may be a high-status party, but they’re still tasteless college students. 

She ponders asking Heather to leave but she values having her head enough to fight it off for a bit. She knows it’ll come sooner or later. The alcohol isn’t settling right in her gut and she’s drinking on an empty stomach. Nothing good can come out of this.

Hand against the wall, Veronica moves through the hallway, fighting back a scowl when she comes across more horny adults. It isn’t even _attractive,_ she doesn’t know what these people see in this. The wandering hands of drunk adults are not artistic, not beautiful like the love she reads about in books but filled with perversion and ignorance.

It’s stupid to think she’d find that in a college party to begin with. High school sweethearts, maybe, but not here. This is the place where people catch STDs and sleep with girls that are far too young for them.

Veronica pats the skirt of her dress, grimacing when she remembers that she has no pockets. She doesn’t have her cigarettes on her, but maybe that’s for the better. She needs to quit that shit anyway.

She wouldn’t be the only one to puff her life away -- half of her peers have taken some type of drug, or smoked away their lifespan with overpriced cancer sticks. She may pretend that she doesn’t see the pot being smoked in the bathrooms but she does, and it _smells._

He smokes too. She saw him, Jason Dean, waiting against his motorcycle, cigarette between fingers. Veronica’s walking falters. She wishes she was with him; he’d be easier to be around, easier for Veronica to breathe. Veronica feels like she has to look over her shoulder every second when she’s here.

She basically has to running from the creep Heather stuck her with. She wishes so dearly that she could have just stayed home, or with JD. But that’s stupid -- she barely knows him. She has no reason to think he’d take care of her.

She spies a head of curly brown hair and a whiff of cheap and overly strong cologne heading in her direction. Brad. She ducks down, easily, below the crowds and makes her way into the next room so she can avoid him. If she plays it well, she can hide from him until he’s too drunk for it to matter. Heather might fool herself that she’s here because she’s just that very, but there’s really only one reason that underaged schoolgirls get invited to college parties and it’s not for their emotional maturity.

Speaking of Heather. Where the fuck is she? College houses are crowded but they certainly aren’t big, she should be able to see the vivid red dress and overindulgent blonde curls are instantly recognizable. At the very least she should be able to find that obnoxious and horrifically loud David, who she hasn’t stopped boasting about in the lunch hall for the last three weeks, whose neck she was hanging off like a dishrag earlier. 

There are some guffaws from the corner of the room, some guys are handing around a dirty pint that appears to have… toilet roll and… is that vomit? in. Laughing as they force a nerdy looking guy in glasses to drink it, perhaps as punishment for daring to invade their sweat and smoke laden space of boorish idiots and girls so intoxicated that they make easy pickings.

God, given the quality of the men here, maybe she was a bit premature in swearing off high school boys. Compared to this mess, Kurt and Ram are positively adult.

Maybe she should just swear off men altogether. This isn't worth it.

But that’s wishful thinking. Westerberg is the straightest place she knows. She’d never survive like that.

She pours herself another double shot of straight vodka, lets it burn its way down her throat. She struggles to find the appeal in this, besides being blackout drunk. Even that part is questionable, she’s been on the unconscious end a fair amount of times since joining Heathers, even if this is her first college party.

Veronica mutters a curse. She doesn’t even have a ride home — she’s barely on her feet and she doubts that Heather has any sobriety to offer.

The beat pumps louder through the building, vibrating, and Veronica cringes when she has to push through another large crowd. The people knock against her, swaying her on her feet.

A girl laughs loudly, the sound roaring to Veronica’s ears, and the girl bumps into her shoulder. She feels a sticky liquid coat her face as the girl’s cup sloshes, rum and coke by the taste of the drops that make her way into her mouth. _Urgh_ , her face crinkles.

“Sorry!” She says, far more loudly than necessary, arms moving erratically to the music. She doesn’t take on any lesson, drink still swishing in her glass, ready to hit the next unexpecting victim.

It’s all down her favorite dress and sticking to her too. _That’s it,_ she thinks, _fuck Heather and her desire to play grown-ups,_ she’s going to splash some water on her face to get the worst of the coke off, then find the nearest phone box and call a cab to her nice warm, empty bedroom.

If Heather asks where she was on Monday she’ll just lie and say she snuck into a club with some of the students or something.

But who is she kidding — she won’t fool a single soul. Heather will tear into her neck regardless. She can already hear the shout of _wet blanket_ or _buzzkill_ in her head.

Veronica pushes through the party, careful to avoid any people with sloshing cups, and walks until she reaches a cracked open door. She can see a sink through the slit. She sighs, a joint bathroom at a college party is going to be disgustingly dirty, but she’ll take anything to relieve the stickiness dripping down her chest.

“Gross,” Veronica says, but pushes the door open anyway. The bathroom is mercifully cooler than the rest of the sweat infused house and surprisingly empty. She makes a beeline for the sink and splashes the cool water on her face, relishing not only the relief from the stickiness of cheap soda and booze but the sense of clarity it gives her. She feels human again. This night will end. She’ll be back home and have a whole weekend to make up an exciting way to retell this to the other two Heathers on Monday.

Veronica rocks on her heels. It won’t only be the Heathers she sees on Monday, unless JD blew his ass out of school with the little gun trick.

Glancing at herself a final time in the mirror, she picks up her bag and prepares herself to leave. Her footsteps falter when there’s a sound from the corner, a sort of strangled groan. Maybe the bathroom is not completely empty after all. She nearly ignores it completely. If she had any desire to tend to a drunk girl she’d already have been able to fulfill her wish multiple times over tonight.

But there’s something familiar about it, something not quite right… She knows who this vomiting mess is.

She sighs and turns on her heel. Five extra minutes at this party probably won’t kill her, but if it does, she will totally mention this girl on her suicide note.

She was right, the blonde curls and fire red dress are instantly recognizable. She feels the contradictory feeling of relief, finally someone she recognizes, and dread, now she can’t make a run for it.

“Heather, there you are, where have you been? I’ve been looking…”

She trails off, taking in Heather’s appearance for the first time. She’s sitting in the corner, leaning ungracefully against the bathroom wall, her pissed off expression is less _I’m an almighty bitch worship me_ and more, well, _I’m pissed off._

She squats down to her level, so she can meet the eyes trying to evade her, “Heather, are you okay?”

And there’s that alpha bitch face, pulled on so quickly that it must be a mask, she scrabbles to her feet “Don’t be such a pillowcase Veronica, of course, I am.”

Veronica weighs her choices. She could either walk off and act like Heather is a good actor, or she can be humane.

She’s always been too good for Heather.

“I’m not stupid,” She crosses her arms against her chest. Heather can’t seriously take her as that dim.

Heather looks to her with a sneer; Veronica sighs. Yeah, she could take her as that dim.

“Why do you care, Sawyer?” She spits, and it’s more than her usual venom. Something is bothering her, and it goes deeper than this party and the alcohol.

It’s a hard thought to believe. Heather Chandler is dull, a shallow bitch that has no problems besides maybe a double worn outfit or unmatching lipgloss.

“Don’t be a bitch, Heather,” Veronica prepares herself for the rebuttal as soon as the sentence finishes. She steps away slightly. She doesn’t want to have to deal with having a finger jabbed in her face tonight. Heather might lose it.

Her anger doesn’t come, besides the sneer, but that’s usual Heather behavior. Veronica’s eyes fall into slits.

“Cut the shit, Heather, what’s wrong?” Veronica plants her feet firmly against the ground, arms crossed against her chest. This isn’t Heather — no amount of alcohol could make her like this.

“Why are you here?”

“I told you, Heather, I’m not leaving—“

“Not _that,”_ The bitterness is back in a burning blaze. Heather hates her teeth. “Don’t waste my time. Don’t you have somebody else to bother?”

Veronica intakes a deep breath; this is useless. There is no point in going in circles with her. Whatever this is has to be the product of intoxication, no matter what Veronica might argue.

“Fine,” Veronica clutches her bag tighter and moves on her heel, walking towards the door with a muttered _see you Monday_. 

“Come back.”

Veronica stills in her spot, screwing her eyes shut for a moment and exhaling. “Yes, Heather?”

“Don’t go,” It’s a demand, not a request. Veronica twists back to Heather, taking in her appearance with a frown.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Are you _dim?_ Christ, Veronica, maybe you do belong with Martha.”

Veronica ignores the Martha jab. Arguing with her over that won’t do anything. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“ _Him_ ,” She spits. Veronica falters; her eyebrows meet. Now she’s _really_ confused. Heather huffs, frustrated. “You said you were done with high school boys,” Heather says, the same old expecting tone that makes Veronica want to tear her extensions out. There is a new edge this time, something more than the essence of a high school bully. “Except Jesse James.”

Veronica doesn’t miss the bitterness this time around and takes a step back, looking Heather up and down.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” Veronica begins, but it’s a moot argument. She’s had too much to drink herself. She can feel it in her walk, and the small throbbing in her temple. She needs to eat something.

“I’m not drunk, Sawyer,” Heather’s anger is as clear as her words. Veronica searches her face, picking through her expression, and realizing with a quiet shock that no, Heather is not as piss drunk as she should be to be acting like this.

“I’m not dating JD,” Is Veronica’s rebuttal. Her voice is too high, bordering a squeak.

“Not my point,” Heather begins to move, shoes clacking against the bathroom floor. “You’re stupid, Sawyer. You’re _stupid._ ”

Veronica blinks. How has this gone from hating her, to hating JD, then coming right back to her? And why is Veronica’s intelligence such a big argument here?”

“You need to go home and get some sleep,” Veronica starts slowly.

“Christ, Veronica,” Heather takes a step forward. Veronica matches the step backward, wincing when her back slams against the wall. “You just don’t notice, do you?”

"Heather, look, I’m sorry for—“

“Ignorance,” She says, and it’s funny. _God_ , it’s so comical coming from one of the stupidest people Veronica knows. Heather extends a hand, presumably to stab Veronica in the chest. Veronica stills.

The chest jab doesn’t happen. Heather grasps the fabric of Veronica’s dress and yanks, heaving the girl forward a few steps. Veronica struggles to catch her footing, trying to ignore just how close they are. She can smell Heather; there’s no trace of alcohol.

Before Veronica has a chance to think about it — to question really what the _fuck_ is going on — Heather is pulling harder at her clothing, locking their mouths together. 

Veronica stiffens. That’s the immediate reaction. Just shock, because _how else does one respond to this?_ Heather fucking Chandler, kissing her? The same woman that just called her stupid. Veronica had never considered herself to be exactly _straight_ , but Heather Chandler’s sexuality is something that she just thought was _there_ , secure. 

She was wrong.

 _Heather_. Her name is a thought that Veronica just can’t seem to speak. Heather continues, and for a minute Veronica wonders _why_ , because she isn’t cooperating. She isn’t feeding into whatever this is.

And then she tastes cherry chapstick, the same flavor she rolled on her lips not too long ago, and she realizes that she’s giving it right back to her.

"Come here," Heather’s voice is distant. Veronica doesn’t fully process it, just the feeling of her hand sliding around the back of Veronica’s neck. And like, holy _shit_ , she has a lot more strength than Veronica has ever given her credit for.

Veronica makes a strangled sound from deep in her throat, the mixture of a whimper and a gasp. Veronica’s lips part at the nudge of a tongue and Heather makes work with the invitation, sliding her tongue into Veronica’s mouth. 

It’s messy and violent and totally, _totally_ wrong and Veronica still has the carousel of _what the fuck_ going around in her head, but the confusion isn’t _bad._ There’s the distant thought of JD, of the boy that she had just been wishing she was with not that long ago, and then Heather tugs at Veronica’s lip and the thought is nothing more.

Heather tastes like vanilla, the taste of overpriced lipstick, and Veronica yearns for more. She _goes_ for more, kissing with a sudden need that has Heather smirking against her mouth. She thinks about all the nasty comments Heather has made towards her -- all the slut jokes, the passing of _whore_ , and Veronica’s sure she would laugh if she was able to. 

Heather locks her fingers in Veronica’s hair. It’s sudden, sharp, and rough. She’s kind of hurting Veronica with how tightly she’s holding on, but it’s good, god, it’s _good_. Veronica struggles to match Heather, messily kissing back the best she can. She isn’t nearly as good as Heather, but the blonde never says anything about it, even when she pulls away and skims her lips along Veronica's jaw, mouthing at the skin softly.

Veronica’s hand falls on the slope of Heather’s neck, fingers curling, and she briefly wonders how far this is going to go. Veronica has never slept with a girl before. Shit, she doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t even have this kissing thing down, and that’s the first step. She’ll just have to—

There’s a pounding against the door, some pressure against Veronica’s back as somebody attempts to push it open, and they part quickly. Heather stumbles back a few steps, eyes wide, surprised, but not regretful. Her lipstick has smeared from the corner of her mouth.

Veronica looks at her for a second longer, heart beating rapidly in her chest, and then remembers the door _,_ and steps away. Veronica stumbles to stand beside the blonde. The girl that stumbles in pays no attention to them, wandering into a stall to retch loudly.

“Eugh,” Veronica gags quietly. Heather rolls her eyes, not deviating from the habit despite what just happened.

“Come on,” She grasps the sleeve of Veronica's dress and opens the bathroom door, yanking Veronica back into the party. The change in atmosphere is a shock; Veronica struggles to adjust to the light change, music drilling a hole in her head. God, now she remembers why she wants to go home.

Veronica expects Heather to discard her onto a sofa, or the kitchen, but she doesn’t. She makes way for the door, tugging the smaller girl behind her without a second glance. Veronica trips through the crowds, muttering apologies under her breath to whoever she crosses. She hopes she doesn’t look as messy as she feels; Heather probably did damage to her hair.

If she does look as messy as she feels, then nobody says anything. They’re too caught up in their own vices to care, to even notice. The same thing Veronica slandered them for before she now welcomes.

The music begins to quieten as they make the final steps to the door, breaking from the sweaty pity of sex and drugs and stepping into the outdoors. The fresh air is a shock to her system, but it’s welcomed.

For a moment, Heather looks behind her, releasing Veronica’s sleeve. Veronica prepares for everything to switch, for Heather’s mood to flip and this all comes crashing down, but it doesn’t. Heather leans forward to take Veronica’s in hers. When she looks back to Veronica’s face, there’s a look in her eyes.

She doesn’t need to say, “This night never happened,” or “this won’t happen again.” Because Veronica already understands all that. Already understands the need for power, for control in Heather’s small highschool world is worth sacrificing anything else more genuine. She wants to win, she wants to survive. Both girls are the same in that way.

Monday will come, and they will both lie through their teeth. Heather will tell them all about how David opened up a whole new world of adult experiences for her, far more than any silly Senior boy could offer and Veronica will thank her loudly and repeatedly for giving her such a privilege. The world will adjust itself back on its normal axis and proper order will be restored.

But for tonight, with the feel of Heather’s warm hand in hers as they walk, she thinks maybe, for now, this is enough. 

* * *

_  
You're in control and everybody down here knows_

_You're the life and the death of the party_

_You got my heart right by the throat_

_When the stage lights rise_

_You start and stop the show._


End file.
